I came here to ask for help, and I sure fucking got it. More than I bargained for.
And half of it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it was absolutely what I needed to hear.
I stand from my seat, itching to get home. “I’m just worried the plan and I have two different ideas about which path is the right one.”
My mother gives me a smile. “You’ll figure it out.” Her gaze drops to the mess crumbled across her cooling rack. “Probably before I figure out this recipe for bananas foster bread.”
I pause on my way to the door, tipping my head toward the soggy shapes. “Ruth has a recipe for that.”
My mom’s brows lift. “Really? I’ll have to get it from her sometime.”
“You better hurry and get it before she goes to Maryland.” The reminder has me inching toward the exit.
My mom’s lips curve in a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
30
Tucker
No plane ride has ever felt longer than the one taking me back to Wyoming after leaving Ruth and Birdie in Maryland. I keep reminding myself this is just temporary, but there’s no guarantee it is. It's possible that no matter how safe it is for Ruth to come back to Wyoming, she might choose to stay where she is. Continue with the life she built for herself and Birdie.
And I'll have to find a way to live with it. A way to move forward.
But I don't think I'll ever find a way to move on.
That's why I can't—won’t—let myself even consider that as a possibility. Until Ruth tells me she's not coming back, I'm living like this is a temporary break. That we’ll be back together soon. Because even though nothing was supposed to be real, what’s between us became anything but fake.
After finally deplaning, I cut through the terminal, moving quickly on my way to the parking garage. And while walking away from Birdie and Ruth was the hardest thing I've ever done, each step I take is getting easier. Because each step I take has a purpose—taking care of my family so they cancome back to me.
Climbing behind the wheel of my truck, I toss my carry-on bag into the passenger seat where Ruth should be sitting and start the engine. Checking the rearview mirror before backing out is fucking hell because Birdie's car seat is no longer there.
I grind my molars together as I pay my parking fee, then jump on the highway. The closest airport I could get a decent flight out of was in Billings, so I've got a couple hours of driving ahead of me. Way too much time to sit and think.
To distract myself, I start making phone calls. The first one is to my mother, letting her know I landed safely. She asks how Ruth's new apartment is and how she and Birdie are settling in. Damn it. Maybe I should have just sent her a text. I keep my answers brief and end the call as quickly as possible. Maryland is the last thing I want to talk about right now.
Next on my list is Heidi. We decided it was best for her to be the initial point of contact between me and the three women also trying to put William behind them. I dial her number, hoping she was able to make some headway with them, because right now I need some good news. Something to keep my optimism alive.
"Hey, baby Bradshaw. I was just about to call you."
That has me sitting straighter in my seat. "Please tell me it was for a good reason."
"It’s for a great reason. All three of the women I found are super excited about never having to worry about that pecker face again, so I think you're in business."
All the air rushes from my lungs, and I can almost taste the relief it carries. "Heidi, have I ever told you how much I love you?"
"Awe. That is super sweet, but you’re not my type. I like them grumpy and cynical."
Before hanging up, Heidi promises to send me the information for the three women, letting me know they’re aware I'll be getting in contact.
As soon as the line disconnects, I repeat my firstcall.
My mother answers, sounding a little confused about why I dialed her number again so soon. "Is this a butt dial?"
I chuckle, feeling a little lighter than I did when I got off the plane. "If it was a butt dial, I wouldn't hear you ask me if it was a butt dial."
"Of course you would. I always hear when I butt dial people."
"I didn't know you were in the habit of butt dialing." It does make sense. My mom is notorious for shoving her cell phone into whatever pocket or pouch is most readily available, frequently without putting the device to sleep. "You’ve never butt dialed me."
